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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377248">The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonSpoon/pseuds/MoonSpoon'>MoonSpoon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lackadaisy (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Death, Drinking, Gambling, Manipulation, Violence, its loving wes hours, origin story of sorts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:07:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,058</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27377248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonSpoon/pseuds/MoonSpoon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>White as a cotton field and sharp as a knife, I heard him howling as he passed me by</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Alligators and Owls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wes was used to sleeping outside. </p>
<p>He was smart enough to know that not every ten-year-old should be used to such circumstances, and he was smart enough to be annoyed by it. However, he began the routine he’d taken up three or four times a week. As long as Ma had callers, he knew better than to stick around. He wandered with his back bent, his head down, and paws stuffed into his pockets to seem as inconspicuous as possible. He didn’t look at anyone who passed him by, and he didn’t say a word.  </p>
<p>The wind was picking up, warm and dry, howling through the long grass he trudged through. Wes didn’t usually venture out this far, but the town was too loud and crowded tonight. The sound hurt his ears. He followed the worn, dirt path further and further away from the lights and the sounds that made his skin crawl with each spike in pitch. He wandered until the only sounds that reached him were the chirps of night bugs and the rush of grass twisting about itself in the breeze.  </p>
<p>He found himself a tree, good and sturdy. He climbed it, going just high enough so no critters would take an interest in him, and low enough so it wouldn’t hurt too bad if he rolled off in the middle of the night. It was only when he trusted the height he’d gotten to that he sprawled out on the heavy angel oak’s limbs and let himself relax and stare up at the clear night sky. </p>
<p>He was safe for now, just until he had to go back in the morning. But it was Sunday around the corner, and Ma always slept late on Sunday. Most likely, he’d come home to find her sprawled on the couch, stinking of whatever went on in her late parties. She’d maybe sit up and look at him funnily, like she didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed to see him returned. She wouldn’t bother him though. He’d rummage for something to eat and be gone again before it occurred to Ma to consider wondering where her son had been all night.  </p>
<p>She never would ask. That’s what made Wes’s chest ache in a way no child’s ever should.  </p>
<p>The feeling made him uncomfortable and angry; so very angry. He curled up tighter in the branches, focusing on the chirps of the crickets and the rare snuffling of something big in the grass beneath him. He dug his claws into his palms and focused on the sting that came with it. Other kids didn't have alligators and owls as their bedfellows. Other kids didn’t wake up with the sun and trek back into town smelling of swamp and sweat. He wondered bitterly what that must be like; no one looking at him, or swatting his ears for speaking too loudly, or tossing him out because a strange man with a bad smell was leering in the door.  But then he frowned as his claws finally broke the skin and he didn’t even flinch. </p>
<p>Other kids wouldn’t have lasted a second out here. Other kids were soft and stupid.  </p>
<p>Wes tucked his pricked, bleeding paws under his arms and rolled onto his side. Tomorrow was Sunday, and if Ma could sleep in, maybe he could too. He’d go back into town when he felt like it. He’d take his time. Perhaps if he was hungry, he'd see about swiping a peach from the johnny come lately fruit carts still lazy with Sunday morning fog. Other kids had to go to church, and say their prayers, and dress in uncomfortable clothes. Not every ten-year-old had the devilish freedom to skulk about on the lord’s day. </p>
<p>Other kids had to go home when the day ended. Wes decided he might not. Maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, but he decided then and there, as he drifted off under the clear sky, that one day he simply would not return to that little town. He would not watch other kids grow up safe and happy. He would not trudge back and forth between bog and abode. He would not stay where he clearly wasn’t wanted. One day, he simply would not return. </p>
<p>Maybe then Ma would decide how she felt, but Wes Clyde wouldn’t be around to find out.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey lads, sorry for not posting in a while. adult life is Rough™</p><p>I wanna open with this is an entirely fictional take on Wes Clyde's story that I came up with while listening to Colter Wall's song of the same name. I do not own Wes Clyde, he belongs to Tracy Butler, I just sort of love him with my whole brain and heart. Anyway, this is what I've been working on for a few months, but I think I'm ready to start posting and I look forward to finishing it up some time. I do have some other ficlets I've been trying to finish as well. Thank you for bearing with me and my hectic schedule, and I hope y'all are staying safe and finding comfort in the things you love the most.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Polecat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A stranger comes to town</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wes was sixteen when a sharply dressed man with a plume of smoke as shadow sauntered into town. His walk was as quick as his tongue, his accent was thick like mud, and he spoke as though he was constantly trying not to smile. Nobody liked him, but that didn’t stop him from making conversation in his rude and strange manner. He called all the women he spoke to Sweetheart and all the men Pal, but it sounded more like a threat than an endearment.  </p>
<p>His suit was pressed so keenly, even the light seemed to slip off it. The dust and dirt of the road knew better than to cling to his polished shoes. His hat was always guarding his eyes, and his fingers were always occupied with a cigarette or a drink in hand. The many times Wes had followed him, he’d never seen more than a hint of his face. The man never looked behind him, and always was on the move.  </p>
<p>The man slunk around town for a few days before Wes decided he had anything worth taking. He breathed enough smoke to cloud himself quite thoroughly, but Wes still saw the metallic wink of gold cufflinks and smelled the quality of his poisons that clung to his suit. The man could stand to lose a few coins, and Wes had no problem being the one to shake them loose. </p>
<p>On the fourth day, Wes took the man's wallet right out of his pocket without so much as a second glance from anyone. Years of hunger had made his fingers quick, and years of trouble had taught him how to vanish into an alley before anyone saw him. </p>
<p>He found the man was from a place called Stone Mountain, that he didn’t have a lot of cash on him, and that he had blood stains covering his business cards. The sight of the browning red stains sparked something inside of Wes. His fingers brushed over the splotches with curiosity. Two things hit him as he crouched, looking at the stained wallet. The first was that it was awfully strange to think that this small smudge was part of a person, who was most likely no longer among the living and had only a speck left to be remembered by. The second came very quickly to him, not in the form of a thought, but in the form of a shoe connecting with his lower back. </p>
<p>It was hard enough to bruise him, but not hard enough to stop him from using the force of the kick to roll himself out of beating range. Ma didn’t raise him much, but she’d taught him how to recover from a good slap if need be. He staggered to his feet, claws out and spine already aching dully as the bruise set in. The man grinned as his ever-present smoke cloud billowed pleasantly around him. </p>
<p>“Them some light fingers you got.” he said, lifting his cigarette to his thin lips. “I ain’t been pinched in years, and a little polecat picks me clean after only a week in this old town.” </p>
<p>The voice was smooth and quiet, barely above a whisper, yet Wes heard every word like it was spoken directly against his ear. It took much of his strength not to shiver. He flattened his ears, lip curling in a threat that worked well on other children. The man at the end of the alley only chuckled and shook the ash from his cigarette patiently. </p>
<p>“Quick fingers and good, sharp teeth. That’s all a fella needs to make his way in the world, you know.” </p>
<p>“Seems like I’m all set, then.” Wes retorted. </p>
<p>The man gave two sharp barks that were meant to be a laugh, his grin spreading wider as he extended an impossibly white paw. </p>
<p>“Pass me back my billfold, Polecat. You got a name along with those teeth?” </p>
<p>“Ain’t supposed to be telling strangers that sort of thing. Especially not strangers with a whole lot of blood in their pockets.” </p>
<p>The man chuckled like crackling fire. It was a mirthless, unfriendly sound that lingered longer than it should have in the air and made Wes’s fur stand on end. He smiled wide, teeth flashing under the glow of his fading cigarette. There was another beat of silence between them before the man decided that Wes would not spook as easily as he would have liked. </p>
<p>“They call me Nicholas Soot.” he said at last. “There. I don’t reckon we’re strangers no more. Lest you keep guarding that name like it’s something precious.” </p>
<p>Wes regarded Nicholas Soot long and hard. He was a tall man, with white fur and eyes that were too wide and too orange. His name was most likely not what he said it was, and the wallet was full of blood that did not belong to him. Ma hadn’t taught Wes much, but he knew when a situation was rotten. He also knew however, that rot only spread to what stood still. </p>
<p>“Wes Clyde.” He finally said, tossing the wallet back. </p>
<p>“Good name, Polecat.” Nicholas Soot said.  “I think I’ll take a liking to you, should them quick fingers keep working that way.” </p>
<p>The invitation was unspoken, and as quickly as it was offered, Wes felt it starting to slip away as Nicholas Soot turned and walked back out into the light. When he was finally gone, a sense of relief washed over Wes. His back ached where he’d been kicked. His paws felt empty as his pockets. The dirt and dust on his shoes felt heavier. </p>
<p>The sounds of the town he’d lived in all his life became louder and louder. The church bells rang; the safe and happy children who had rooves over their heads and parents who loved them laughed naively as they played; and bustle of everyday life swallowed up the newcomer called Nicholas Soot like he’d never been there in the first place. Normalcy settled in, free of strangers, free of too wide smiles and plumes of smoke. Free of anything interesting.  </p>
<p>Wes walked out of the alley unnoticed as always. He didn’t look at anyone who passed him by, and he didn’t say a word. He followed the scent of promise and poison the stranger had left in his wake, and simply did not return.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fool</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope y'all are keeping well. I'm planning to get some one shots out of the way soon after this so chapter 4 might be a bit of a wait.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wes learned two things very quickly. The first was that Nicholas Soot was no friend of his. The second, was that rules did not apply to Nicholas Soot, not even the very important ones. They clung to his shadow with tooth and claw, but he shook consequences off his shoulders like ash. Nothing could reach Nicholas Soot, though it certainly tried. </p>
<p>Soot took him places he never thought he’d see. Wes couldn’t recall the names of every town, but he remembered the heat vanishing from their path whenever they arrived. They’d step off the train with a chill on their heels and the people would part like the sea for them. Consequences may never have latched onto them, but the scent of misdeeds was a strong one even the dullest of fools could smell out. Their revulsion, however, did not stop Soot from calling all the women he spoke to Sweetheart, and all the men Pal in his usual unkind manner.  </p>
<p>Wes followed him as needed. He wasn’t as eloquent, nor his accent as charming, so he spent little time bewitching those confident enough to wade through Soot’s aura of smoke and unspoken menace. He spent his evenings leaning in the shadows like he had before. He took what he could, his fingers quick and his teeth sharp. Some things he took in secret, some he took with a sneer and a knife. But Wes made sure he was anything but useless. </p>
<p>Uselessness was not something Nicholas Soot took kindly to. Wes had learned that through the occasional knocks about the head when he didn’t earn enough or talked to much or asked too many questions.  He kept his head down, picking pockets when he could or snatching the occasional unattended knickknack; anything he could hand over to Soot to earn that sardonic half-smile. He learned to keep his mouth shut and money coming, lest he get dumped by the side of the road with nothing to his name but his shadow and a layer of dust. </p>
<p>Wes was seventeen when he first succumbed to arrogance. His paws were quick, and he looked the part of someone not to be toyed with. Laziness paired comfortably with drink one night, and his fingers slowed clumsily. He never questioned what would happen if someone decided to test him. He’d never figured they’d try.  </p>
<p>One moment found his paw slipped into a pocket as usual, the next moment found him flat on his back with a well-polished shoe on his chest and an ache in his jaw. Men disliked being made into fools. Wes had learned over years of watching Ma that the only thing that placated an angry man was having someone to knock around. The man pinning him found his peace with two sharp kicks and another punch to the eye that stung worse than anything Wes had ever felt in his life. His world heaved, he wanted to pass out, but the man kept hitting and kicking until Wes couldn’t hold his arms up to block anymore.  </p>
<p>It was only when Wes fell still that the man stopped and wandered drunkenly off into the night with proud curses and whiskey on his breath. </p>
<p>When the blood and spit had dried into his fur, and the warm southern breeze had blown new layers of dust all over him that Nicholas Soot slipped soundlessly from the shadows and crouched next to him. He lit a cigarette he never seemed to be without and sighed his plume of smoke. </p>
<p>“Get yourself into a spot of trouble there, Polecat?” he asked. </p>
<p>“Help me....” Wes managed to croak.  </p>
<p>“I ain’t your daddy.” Soot said. “You got yourself knocked down, you’ll pull yourself right back up.” </p>
<p>Soot got to his feet and took another drag before spitting in the dirt. “You ain’t nothing but a damn fool, Polecat. I'd knock the skin off you myself it wasn’t holding on by a thread already.” </p>
<p>Nicholas Soot was no friend of his. If anything, Wes was nothing but a companion to shoulder the consequences Soot didn’t have the time to suffer. He struggled to his feet with a stumble and stagger and followed him into the night. He was bloody and bruised, and a damn fool, but he wasn’t fool enough to spend the night in the dirt feeling sorry for himself.  </p>
<p>When he woke up the next morning, he followed Nicholas Soot into town like always. Bruised and unsightly, he kept his head lower than usual and sulked into shadows deeper and deeper. He kept his paws to himself and watched as Nicholas Soot called all the women Sweetheart and ignored the men when they were no longer useful to him. He watched as people bought him drinks and gambled with him. He watched the dishonesty in Nicholas Soot’s cards before he played them and stole tables worth of plastic coin and bills from men angry enough to bare their teeth, but too frightened of Soot’s too wide smile to do anything about it. Nicholas Soot lounged in his plume of smoke, with cautious women unsure if they should flock to him or flee. The man as white as a cotton field and sharp as a knife didn’t have to scrounge about in the alleys for a coin or a scrap. He didn’t have to take a beating if he didn’t want to, and if he wanted to steal, he shook your hand before doing so.  </p>
<p>All this time, all the places he’d been, Wes Clyde was still nothing but a stinking alley rat. A pang of anger clenched in his stomach, but that could have been an old bruise from the night before. His musty clothes weighed heavily on him despite their runs and rips. His paws felt dirty with patheticisms that would stain if he spent one more night robbing passersby of measly coin or trinket.  </p>
<p>The only thing heavier than his shame was longing. It was exhausting to hold and pulled him down further into his own misery the more he looked at the Nicholas Soot and saw how he didn’t need to hide his menace. He reeked of expensive poisons and smiled for far too long at people. He laughed like he didn’t mean it, but it was what his audience needed to hear. His eyes glowed, he never seemed to be without his cloud of smoke, and despite all of this, a crowd followed him. Desperate fools, eager to sit in his shadow and bask in cruelty, if it meant they could come away with the tale of the strange man they’d met that day and never saw again. </p>
<p> Quick fingers and good, sharp teeth. That’s all a fella needs to make his way in the world, you know. </p>
<p>It was the first piece of advice Wes had ever been given, and it only now just occurred to him that he was using it all wrong.  </p>
<p>It was dark when Nicholas Soot came back out, and Wes slipped back into his shadow. He didn’t hand him any stolen wallets or watches. He didn’t hand him any coins or trinkets. They walked in silence back into the night. </p>
<p>“You still a fool, Polecat?” Nicholas Soot finally asked. </p>
<p>“No sir.” Wes answered. “I ain’t no fool.” </p>
<p>The slap across the face came so quick that Wes barely registered where it came from. A sting accompanied by the reek of tobacco and something rotten muddled his senses. Soot hit him again. A tooth loosened from the night before lost its root entirely. He fell into the dirt again, but this time had enough sense to stagger back up and swing. He missed, and it brought him close enough for Soot to grab and throw him against the dark window of a shop. </p>
<p>As quickly as the blows started, they stopped. </p>
<p>“You swagger around like some over puffed owl thinking you can just do what you want because you think I got enough wits to pull you out of trouble.” Soot said, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “World’s a nasty beastie, Polecat. I ain’t that clever enough, and I don’t care to be. You find your ass in the dirt again and I’ll leave you for the buzzards.” </p>
<p> Wes spat out his tooth and stumbled after him. He wasn’t a fool, and he damn well wouldn’t be a rat anymore. His head still ached when he collapsed into bed that night. His mouth still filled with blood he forced himself to swallow, but he finally understood. </p>
<p>Nicholas Soot did not take kindly to fools, but Wes didn’t intend to disappoint him again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fistful of Marigolds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wes pushes his luck. CW: violence at the end of the chapter.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wes was not as charming or smooth tongued as Nicholas Soot. He didn’t look or sound like someone with coin to lose or a story to tell. He knew he looked like he’d just crawled out of the gutter. So, when the dust and dirt he’d once worn as a shield trickled down the shower drain, he couldn’t help but feel like a piece of him was dying. But he dug his claws into his calloused palms and focused very hard on the prick of his skin breaking under sharpness, and it became a little easier to see himself washed away. </p>
<p>He didn’t follow Nicholas Soot into town. He had better things to do than wander around bored and crooked. He waited until he knew the hotel room was long empty before coming out with the scent of statice clinging to him like an unspoken oath. His clothes were still ragged and worn, but he wouldn’t need them for much longer. </p>
<p>He knew this small town inside and out. It was one of the many perks of skulking. He knew which path would keep him out of sight. He knew where to duck and dodge the prying eyes, and he knew how to disappear with the last wallet he’d ever take. It was heavy in his paws, but he only needed the bills and coin. He tossed the billfold aside in less than a minute and vanished into a shop he knew wouldn’t ask too many questions. </p>
<p>The bell jingled softly as he entered, and a man looked up from behind his desk and frowned. The shop smelled of new fabric and leather. The brightness of the lights and mirrors made Wes feel more exposed than ever. Nevertheless, he went right up to the clerk and leaned purposefully on the counter, a half-smile cocking the corner of his nervous mouth.  </p>
<p>“What do you have for a fella down on his luck?” </p>
<p>“Pity, mostly.” The clerk answered, pulling his papers back from under Wes’s arm. “However, there is a sale on dry wit as well.” </p>
<p>“I’m ain’t-” Wes stopped, his primitive accent weighing on his tongue. He chose his words more carefully. “....I’m not in the market for that sort of humor, friend. The few dollars my nimble-fingered street acquaintances left me with are best spent on something respectable, but if you’re only dealing in sarcasm, I’m certain I can find a shop with more variety.” </p>
<p>The clerk raised a thin eyebrow, and Wes flashed the small collection of bills he’d saved. He wasn’t stupid enough to give Nicholas Soot every penny he swiped, and the wallet from earlier certainly fattened the offer quite a bit, enough to make him worth the full attention of the clerk. Money was money, and the man had enough sense to look the other way for a profit. </p>
<p>“We should have something under the label of respect, though I hope you understand respect does not come hand in hand with quality.” </p>
<p>Wes’ grin widened. “You don’t need to tell me.” </p>
<p>-- </p>
<p>The suit he’d bought was indeed, respectable. Deep navy atop a clean white shirt, with decent bronze cufflinks that didn’t glint as nicely as Nicholas Soot’s gold ones but passed well enough so people wouldn’t glance twice at him. As the store clerk had said, it also was low in quality. It itched, the joints felt stiff, and it rubbed his fur the wrong way, but it only took an hour or so of pacing the hotel room to learn how to ignore all of that. By the time night fell, he was confident enough to walk without squirming, and his well-practiced gestures bore no hint of his stiff discomfort.  </p>
<p>His tail twitched as he slunk towards the saloon, he knew Nicholas Soot liked to frequent the most. Head down and paws stuffed into his pockets, he couldn't help but feel as though he was doing something wrong. His stomach was in knots by the time he reached the steps, and the feeling only worsened when the doors opened, and orange light cut knives through the deep blue evening. The smell of liquor seeped into the dry air, voices and laughter riding on top of it. He’d never set foot in a place like this before, even at home. There were too many faces he’d seen leering at Ma’s door, too many familiar smells of misdeed and lechery.  </p>
<p>But he wasn’t a child anymore, and he reminded himself he wasn’t a rat either. Straightening the plain tie he’d stolen from Nicholas Soot’s bag, he swallowed his nerves and slipped through the crowd. </p>
<p>The saloon was packed. It was amazing anyone could move. There was so much going at once, it took all his control not to turn right around and walk right back out. Glasses clinked, voices rang loud, and the shuffling of cards and bets echoed off the walls. Music played, but it was impossible to discern the tune over the madness of the crowd. An elbow to the ribs pushed Wes along. He slipped between dancers and drunkards, waiters and down-on-luck gamblers, until he felt the familiar pull of orange eyes settled on him. </p>
<p>His nerves peaked again at the thought of stepping outside his normal routine and into the strange world that Nicholas Soot thrived so well in. He had no plan, only the intent to prove he was more than some low-level thief that could be tossed and bossed around by those who’d never struggled once in their soft lives. The idea that he’d have to follow through on such a display hadn’t occurred to him until he locked eyes with Soot at his usual table and usual crowd. There was a flicker of surprise in the smoldering gaze, perhaps anger. It was hard to tell, and he knew it wouldn’t matter either way. He’d hate himself if he came this far only to balk. </p>
<p>He pulled up a chair and sat down. The table visibly paused. Cards stopped shuffling, the chatter fell quiet, and Nicholas Soot still hadn’t taken his eyes off of him. </p>
<p>“He’s just a baby.” The woman sitting on Nicholas Soot’s knee finally piped up. “Does he even know how to play?” </p>
<p>“Don’t matter, Sweetheart.” Wes said. “I got a buck or two worth tossing in, and that’s really what y’all care about.” </p>
<p> A mumble of laughter floated around the table. Wes tried very hard to think they were laughing with him. His heart was in his throat, amazed that he’d been able to speak as steadily as he had.  Cards were passed to him, slick and confusing. He eyed the numbers and symbols that meant little to him. Red and black winked back at him. Nicholas Soot tossed a coin into the pile, the last to laugh so his voice slipped delicately through the tension. </p>
<p>“Quit your shivering, Polecat. It’s your first time, we’ll be gentle.” </p>
<p>More laughter. Wes’s face burned.  </p>
<p>The game picked back up at a pace that cared not how experienced its players were. The conversation shifted and rolled around the table, much too fast for Wes to keep up with. Voices all around him carried over each other. Laughter wove around words; the clinking of glass rang in his ears. Still, those orange eyes stayed fixed upon him as he copied the moves of random players around him. He gave two cards when the man on his left gave one. His cards were all red now, but still mismatched unevenly as diamonds and hearts.  </p>
<p>The first game made no sense. He lost ten dollars, much to the amusement of the table. By the third round, he’d learned he could back out if he needed without losing more. Nicholas Soot never took his eyes off him for a second, which made the losses worse and his confidence sway. It was like he was doing something wrong, and Nicholas Soot would take it out of him later.  </p>
<p>The man opposite of him was old enough to be concerned about, but he didn’t play like it. His withered paws were steady, and he occasionally lifted one to tweak and twirl his mustache as he yammered on and on about the time of his youth and how different things were. </p>
<p>“I’m only saying, you would never hear of it in my day.” He grumbled in his strange accent. “Why, I was drinking by the time I was ten and I’m doing splendidly now.” </p>
<p>“The way you’ve been losing your shirt tonight is something like a strip tease, George.”  </p>
<p>The old man grumbled and passed a few of his chips in. Wes almost followed suit before something kicked him under the table. Nicholas Soot shook his head, an unkind smirk playing at his thin lips.  </p>
<p>“I meant I’m doing as well as I could be with or without my liquor. I don’t see why a bunch of loonies with picket signs should get to tell me what I can and can’t do.” </p>
<p>“Change is change, pal." Soot said, folding his hand and passing it forward. “You gonna keep up or lie there in the dirt complaining as it all passes you by?” </p>
<p>“The dirt, if you please.” George said stiffly. “I’m halfway there anyway I suppose. Might as well be comfortable while bittering on as I like.” </p>
<p>A laugh rippled through the table. Wes folded his hand as well, having lost blessedly little this round. George chortled pleasantly as he pulled his winnings back. One of the players left with an annoyed grumble, as the other accepted the loss with a sip of whiskey and a curse. Nicholas Soot patted the woman’s hip delicately and she slipped off his knee, vanishing into the thinning crowd.  </p>
<p>The moment she was gone, Soot leaned in, paw coming to rest firmly on the back of Wes’s neck, claws digging into him.  </p>
<p>“Interesting to see you here, Polecat. That’s a lot of money you’ve been losing.” </p>
<p>“It’s mine.” Wes said quickly. “I earn it, I choose how to waste it.” </p>
<p>“You earn it, and you pass it along to me for proper investing. I think that was the little deal between us.” The claws tightened, and Wes fought back the urge to struggle. “Now, you wanna tell me how you plan on paying me back for all that you just tossed away like some witless wonder?” </p>
<p>“I ain’t paying you back, it was mine. You wanna dick around playing cards and peacocking about like you do, fine. But you ain’t getting a cent off of me that ain’t yours.” </p>
<p>There was a pause. In that pause, a weight that Wes couldn’t quite place settled on him. Hot and thick, he found himself unable to breathe. The rest of the world seemed to quiet around them, the muffled outside melting away until he could hear nothing at all. His stomach twisted in discomfort. He knew he should be feeling very afraid, and that Nicholas Soot was suddenly grinning the cruelest smile he’d yet offered. Eyes on fire, teeth shining like knives, Soot tugged him once, bringing Wes close enough to whisper into his ear. </p>
<p>“Boy.” He said. “You simply got no idea that plans I have, or the money it’s gonna take to get us there. Now, it seems to me that cheap back-talk and even cheaper suit got you thinking you and me are somehow the same just because we’re sitting at the same table.” </p>
<p>“Let go of-” </p>
<p>“I ain’t finished.” Soot’s claws were suddenly, subtly, at Wes’s throat. “We ain’t the same. And you best mark me, I’ll be showing you soon how different we really are. But for now, since we got an audience, I’m gonna be real nice and give you a chance or two to win back what you owe me. You feel like you got something to prove to me, then you best do it now, Polecat. Or I’m gonna have to find other ways to take it out of you that’ll make you wish you were six feet under with only a fistful of marigolds for company.” </p>
<p>Then, like there was never a thing between them, Soot let him go. He laughed low and easy, like he always did for his crowd. He made small talk with George about the changing times and poked fun at the remaining player who was the only one losing worse than Wes was. The world came back loud and colorful. Air rushed back into Wes’s lungs, and the game went on. </p>
<p>New hands were dealt, more chips added to the pile. Wes knew at this point that faces were good, and numbers were acceptable. Pairs were better, doubles were preferred. An hour or two of copying had lost him damn near ten dollars at this point, but as the winking eyes of a woman holding a flower and her darker twin gaze back at him, he knew that somehow would not be enough. </p>
<p>“I think I’ll have this last round before calling it an evening, gents.” George smiled, his round face glowing. “All this chatter and nonsense has me feeling lightheaded.” </p>
<p>“You sure that’s not from the anticipation of you about to clean us out?” Soot asked with a chuckle. </p>
<p>“My good man, I simply could not say such a thing.” George tossed down a pawful of red chips, ones Wes knew were high in value. “I play until weary, and I find myself exhausted. Now either see me or raise.” </p>
<p>“Raise.” Soot said. “You know how I feel about bluffers, George. What’d you think, Polecat? You feeling lucky?” </p>
<p>Fear twisted in his stomach again at the thinly veiled threat. Even the two faces he held brought him little comfort. It took more effort than it should have to keep his paw from shaking as he met the ante. He had nothing left, nothing he was willing to part with anyway. He needed to hide away what little money he had left. </p>
<p>The clink of the chips hitting the pile rang uncomfortably in his ears. He flattened them unintentionally. </p>
<p>“I assure you,” George was saying. “I’m not a bluffer. Why, I’ve been straight and honest since I was just a lad. You know, I think it makes Lady Luck fancy me somewhat. I’ve never lost a game I didn’t bluff in.” </p>
<p>“Show your cards, George.” Soot said. </p>
<p>“I will, I will. Are you certain you two wouldn’t want to spice things up a little? This could be such an exciting round before the evening is over.” </p>
<p>“Ah, you know I would have if I had the funds to spare, old man.” Soot said, tossing his hand down. “The only card showing me any kindness is this six of clubs. Unless that fish over there has something to stop your gloating, I’m out.” </p>
<p>Once again, Wes found himself trapped in the orange gaze. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. Two face cards was a good risk, two face cards could have saved him. He’d seen Soot clear out a table with a similar hand. Why shouldn’t it work for him? His paws were threatening to start shaking again if he didn’t make a choice. Like someone else was controlling him, Wes laid his cards face down. He folded. </p>
<p>“Nothing?” George asked. “I’m quite amenable to letting you change your mind you know. Poker isn’t poker without a bit of chance, a bit of risk, thrill even.” </p>
<p>“I got nothing more to bet.” Wes muttered. </p>
<p>“A shame.” George sighed. “Well, I had nothing too, king high. When you have to fold, you have to fold, eh lad?” </p>
<p>Soot gave a bark of laughter. Wes stared incredulously at the old man as he happily collected his winnings. The world started to muffle again, slow down even. Heavily, painful panic started to twist in his gut as he watched his money vanish into the dishonest pockets of some gloating old drunk. The meager handful of coins he’d managed to save felt like nothing in his own pocket. It was so little that Soot probably wouldn’t even consider taking it off him when he was finished with him. </p>
<p>“You lied.” Wes managed to breathe. “You said you didn’t bluff.” </p>
<p>“Also a lie.” George said, throwing back the last of his drink. “That’s called poker. Well, I suppose I’ll be seeing you two later....or maybe just the one with some change still left to lose.”  </p>
<p>He laughed again, waddling off towards the exit.  </p>
<p>The saloon was near empty at this hour. It was empty enough for the bar tender to start eyeing the remaining patrons as politely as possible, a silent invitation to beat it. Wes stood, lightheaded and legs shaking. He leaned forwards slightly, resting his paws flat against the table to balance himself. One year. One lousy year of skulking around as a snot nosed little thief. One lousy year of bouncing from town to town, curled up in the shadow of a man with blood in his pockets and a thankless tongue. One year he’d spent, trading his hometown alleyways and ditches for rented darkness where he played the same thieving games one the same thoughtless idiots. </p>
<p>And in one night, some old drunk had robbed him blinder than anyone else Wes had ever stolen from. George had ruined it all, ruined him. And he’d laughed about it. </p>
<p> Nicholas Soot stood as well, putting out his cigarette in the dregs of his drink. Wes felt his paw start to wrap around his upper arm. </p>
<p>“Let's go on a walk, Polecat.” </p>
<p>“I got business.” Wes whispered. </p>
<p>“With me, you do.” </p>
<p>“No.” </p>
<p>Before Soot could tighten his hold, Wes twisted away. He pulled back so fast he stumbled, knocking a chair over as he turned and headed outside. It was pitch black outside, but Wes had grown up in the dark. He’d grown up sneaking around. There wasn’t a night sky that could stop him from getting where he needed to go. </p>
<p>“You ain’t gonna run, Wes.” Nicholas Soot said calmly, starting after him. “You got nowhere to go and it’s a small town.” </p>
<p>But Wes wasn’t running.  </p>
<p>It only took him five paces outside to see the rotund outline of George stumbling obliviously down the street, singing some song that had been playing in the saloon earlier. There was carelessness in his step, glee even. He had no trouble with his lies, no lasting weight on his conscience. He was enjoying it. Wes was after him before Nicholas Soot could catch up. Years of trouble had made him quick, and years of unspent anger was finally overflowing. </p>
<p>When he grabbed George’s sleeve with the viciousness that was boiling over in him, he almost tripped them both up.  </p>
<p>“Whoa!” George righted himself, tugging his sleeve free of Wes’s sweating grip. “Lad, I thought we said good evening back in the saloon.” </p>
<p>“You lied.” Wes snarled.  </p>
<p>George shifted, one foot to the other, discomfort clear on his round face. His fur started to bristle. “Poker is poker, lad. Bluffing is fair, even if you don’t like it much. Now, I’m sorry if you’re upset, but come back tomorrow night and maybe you can win some back.” </p>
<p>“I ain’t got nothing left but pennies, you cheating shit.” Wes grabbed at him again, his claws dug in tight this time and didn’t let go. “If you had just played fair-!” </p>
<p>“I did play fair, dunce!” George spat. “Unhand me, or I’ll shout.” </p>
<p>“Give me my money back.” Wes snarled. “You think you can lie to my face like that? I ain't no fool, and you ain’t gonna make me one! I earned that money, and I didn’t play to have it stolen by some old gloating bastard.” </p>
<p>“Now you-!”  </p>
<p>Before George could argue any further, Wes punched him. He’d been in fights before. He’d fought the other boys his age when they threw rocks at him and shouted names. He fought the grownups who called him bad news after only a glance. He’d fought the people who caught him robbing. But when his fist connected with George’s head, he felt it down to his bones. </p>
<p>Pain slipped under his nails and through his curled fingers, knuckles cracking in protest. It swept up through his hand. His tendons were in agony as the weight of George’s skull decimated them. His arm buckled, his shoulder popped, and he almost lost his balance as George fell to the ground in a swirl of blood and confusion. Wes was breathing hard. The single blow had taken strength he didn’t know he had. Fighting to survive was different from fighting to cause pain. </p>
<p>“Bastard!” George gurgled through a bloody mouth. “Bastard, you’ve knocked my teeth-!” </p>
<p>But he didn’t get to finished. George’s gurgling voice broke the haze, reminding Wes exactly what he’d dashed into the darkness to do. He flung himself onto the old man, knee slamming into his gut, elbow finding his collar bone. Fist met with nose; claws met with eyes. The two fell, twisting in the dirt like serpents as violence kicked up a cloud of dust to hide the desperate crime. George may have managed a blow or two, Wes couldn’t tell. All he knew was the terror of Nicholas Soot’s grinning snarl and his angry eyes. All he wanted was his money back. He’d earned it. He’d spent months running around like some pathetic halfwit saving enough to make something of himself, and he wasn’t about to let it all disappear with a well-timed lie and a worthless hand. </p>
<p>Wes finally had the old man in the dirt. Straddling the thick waist, he slammed his fists several more times into the bloodied mess that had been a smiling mask of endearing dishonesty only minutes before. If he had any teeth left, they wouldn’t make for a pretty smile anymore. Bruises and clotted blood smeared into fur, black and red like the cards they’d been playing with. Wes’s paws were sticky with gore when he finally stopped punching.  </p>
<p>He was breathing hard. His lungs ached terrible from the scuffling. The jacket he’d bought that very day had been lost in the struggle and lay worthless in tatters. George’s frantic claws had raked right through the cheap fabric. His throat was raw. Wes only just realized he’d been screaming the whole time.  </p>
<p>Slowly, he felt the body, searching for the pockets he’d watched his money vanish into, and when he found it, he made sure to take every bill and every penny. Even what wasn’t his, he took. It wasn’t as if George could stop him. </p>
<p>Wes got off the old man, who groaned weakly as the weight was lifted off his battered form. He was still alive, but that didn’t mean anything. Wes had no intention of staying around, waiting for blame to find him in the morning. He turned and picked up his ruined jacket, paws aching horribly. He turned on his heel and left, shoving the money into Nicholas Soot as he passed him.  </p>
<p>“We’re even.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey lads, sorry for not posting in a while. adult life is Rough™ </p><p> I wanna open with this is an entirely fictional take on Wes Clyde's story that I came up with while listening to Colter Wall's song of the same name. I do not own Wes Clyde, he belongs to Tracy Butler, I just sort of love him with my whole brain and heart. Anyway, this is what I've been working on for a few months, but I think I'm ready to start posting and I look forward to finishing it up some time.  I do have some other ficlets I've been trying to finish as well. Thank you for bearing with me and my hectic schedule, and I hope y'all are staying safe and finding comfort in the things you love the most.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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